


Fervor

by Turnaroundeverynowandthen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gothic, Hate to Love, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turnaroundeverynowandthen/pseuds/Turnaroundeverynowandthen
Summary: A listless and heartbroken Rose finds herself in the french countryside; acting as au pair for a wealthy, pure-blood family. A month into her stay, a familiar guest arrives; inciting a deep contempt from school-days, and a blistering confrontation with the past she is so desperately trying to run from. Scorose. NextGen.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy & Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley, Teddy Lupin/Rose Weasley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**-Fervor-**

It was uncharacteristically hot the day the party arrived.

It was summer and the climate was filled with an unrelenting and unpredictable malice. The likes of which manifested from days of dreary, heavy droplets permeating the atmosphere, to brilliant, electric blue skies capping the dancing poplar trees that rooted in the orchards out back.

Rose couldn’t tell which one she preferred. The grey, wet days felt familiar in a muted; commonplace sense. The air threatened to swallow her whole; keeping her safe and motionless inside it’s dull melancholy. If the mottled clouds could paint a fragmented notion of her inner being; they would be the daring, thunderous storms outside muddy panes of glass.

By contrast, the days bathed in the early, ephemeral sunshine made her skin feel foreign and her eyes feel heavy. The choir of rustling leaves and wistful chirps pounded in her ears. She felt a deep longing for something she could not grasp and could not name- or maybe, _refused_ to. The earth was alive; the world was running. She was stagnant; rooted like the poplar trees in the orchard -But not dancing.

_“Confiture! Confiture!”_

She had run to France; she knew that. Lily, strangely enough, was the only one who understood. Lily; who’s sharp wit and bolstering eyes held mawkish contempt for Rose’s own enigmatic ways since before they could remember, had lain bare the plan with which her cousin should follow suit.

“- _Just go…_ ” she had whispered fervently, looking at Rose with a trembling transparency she saved for few, “Don’t tell the family. Don’t even think- I can handle it. Wait until you’ve settled. Or else… They won’t let you leave.”

The two had never _not_ been at odds. Rose had galaxies within her; orbiting, pulling, expanding- always. Lily lacked her own internal cosmos; settling for total commandment of the universes around her. Rose could sometimes barely articulate words over the unearthly chatter going on in her own head. Lily had the uncanny ability to rarely ever cease speaking.

Lily had the world at her beck and call- leaving Rose as a familial shadow; ensconced to the society they held, permanently in the notions her dear cousin decided to bestow upon her. Rose had Albus- something Lily would never forgive her for…

“What about Al?”, Rose had fervently whispered back, “What will I tell him?” 

Something itched in the back of her mind as her cousin vehemently repeated her earlier statement, “-Just go!” she had said, taking Rose by the hand, “Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of them…”

It itched with the twisting unease of distrust. Did _Lily merely want her gone for good?_ It would not be uncharacteristic. However, something deceptively fractured in Lily’s eyes told her that maybe -for the first time, it seemed- she wished she could be in Rose’s place instead.

_“Confiture! Confiture!”_

At the time, even if Lily _had_ wanted her gone, little could have kept her from exodus. She could no longer stand to exist in the stifling commotion her family provided. They were a tangled mass of long limbs and red hair and fiery opinions. They felt as if each existed solely to hold and transpire every burden; no matter how trifling. She often found herself scooped out, picked apart, feasted on; craving even a moment of silent clarity. How she wished she could cease their parade of jovial chaos.

It did not matter what she wanted. They were a family forged from fear; so tightly clung to one another, a slight desire of departure would cause a pain so deep it threatened to rip the very beating heart from their collective body. Family was everything. The highest sin would be to sever the tightly woven thread wound through each and every one of them.

And none of them even knew how deeply Rose had done just that.

Except…

“ _Mon bête confiture!”_

That was the real reason she had to leave. With his deep, aching eyes searing into her at every family gathering; his arm swung tauntingly around the willowy, golden frame of his wife - her cousin. She was beginning to lose her sanity.

_“He’s in love with you, you know?”_ He had said to her on that summer afternoon.

The day everything changed.

_Or had it?_ They had been dancing around each other for months. Toying with how far the other was willing to go. How much the other was willing to lose. Maybe that day, nothing had changed. They had merely given in to the inevitable. Rose could barely recall. Time seemed to blur; the memory feeling humid, sticky…saccharine.

He was referring to his son, Remy. Barely six.

“ _Mon bête confiture!”_

Rose had always loved children. They had always loved her. Children did not mind the way words would catch in her throat, or the way her imagination often came to drag her from the dull reality of the world around her. They gave her words to say; begged of her to see their own spirited fantasies through her eyes. She was an eager and wistful accomplice.

Perhaps she was still very much the child who saw worlds hidden away in tree knots and felt the birds humming in the sky were speaking to her in a language all their own. She could coax even the most fastidious of children into believing in the universes unseen.

Remy was not fastidious. Remy was pulled by the tides; his person always frothing, swelling rising and falling. _Moon Child,_ she had called him.

“All we hear about when you leave is ‘ _Rose this_ …” and ‘ _Rose that_ …’ It’s charming…” His eyes. Those deep, brown, aching…tempting eyes.

Rose remembered the rubied shine of his bottom lip as he drew the beer bottle away from his mouth. She had been so mesmerized by those lips; even as a child. They curved and pouted so beguilingly.

Vicky had needed help with the new baby. After moving from their seaside town so she could take a new job in the city; she found it much more difficult to manage a family without the help of her mother nearby. Margot was proving to be a child not so easily content with the world she had recently been brought into. Fits of screaming only ceasing from pure exhaustion and spent lungs, caused many a sleepless night in the Lupin household.

“Taking a toll…”, she had heard Ginny say to her mother once in confidence, unaware of Rose’s silent presence “That marriage has a shelf life…always has.”

“New babies don’t save relationships,” her mother had confidently whispered back. Rose had found the exchange surprisingly cruel.

Rose found Margot to be a challenging child- but not impossible. On the first evening she was desperately begged to babysit -A vehement attempt on the part of Vicky to extract her and her husband from their slowly suffocating household- it seemed the little girl was prepared to wail into the night.

With Remy in tow; his bright pajamas and too big galoshes stark against the early evening sky, she carried Margot up and down the slow-moving creek adjacent to the family home.

She felt for the poor creature. She had valleys of sorrows inside she could not communicate; her tiny body holding the same turbulent galaxies spinning within Rose.

It seemed her little bundle of misery would be relentless in her crying. However, the warm summer wind and the gentle momentum of the water slowly lulled Margot into a deep slumber.

The three of them stayed outside for a moment more. Remy brought her bits of stone and sticks he had pulled from the creek; depositing them to her as valuable exchange for fanciful presents only the two of them could see. They stared at the silvery sky together; watching as the earth's natural satellite made its nightly appearance.

“Can you buy the moon..?”, the little boy had sighed. “I’d like to buy you the moon…”

Rose looked down at his face; luminous and inquisitive. “You _are_ the moon… _Moon Child.”_

“ _Mon bête confiture!”_

That night was the first night she felt those eyes on her. The two parents had come home early; anticipating the worst. They found Rose washing dishes; their home silent with the stark notion of two sleeping, starlit children.

“She loves the water…”, Rose had said to their astonished faces. “The creek calms her…”

Vicky simply wrapped her arms around Rose; pressing herself in so tightly, she could feel every jolting angle of her thin frame. She smelled of jasmine.

That’s when she first noticed the eyes. Eyes she had known her whole life shifted suddenly; moving from vacant acknowledgement, towards something… more engaged. These eyes were curious…wanting-almost. He walked her to the front way.

“Water, you say?” He had asked.

“Hmm?” She had been looking at her shoes slowly treading the gravel beneath her feet.

“You’re good with them. Margie’s a wild thing- We’ll have to have you around more often.” They had stopped at the front gate.

She remembered the color of his shirt; navy. How his hand curled around the edges of the wrought-iron. How she worshiped those hands…

“How’s school?”

“School’s done. Graduated last year.”

The crickets chirped around them; a slow symphony aligning with the rising rhythms of her own heart. Those eyes shifted again. She saw it; that distinct change. She had noticed it in others as a girl; the summer her wiry limbs had softened and filled and the body she had always felt alien in became less so; much in the way the outside world now welcomed it’s gentle curves.

She saw the looks from eager classmates at school; from men on the street. It terrified her. She cocooned herself in large sweaters and a mass of coarse, red hair. But then; with those aching eyes looking at her; almost through her. She did not feel the desire to leaden her body with fabric and silence. She imagined her own skin; softly shaded blue in the moonlight. The way she glanced at him through laden lashes. She felt brave. She felt powerful.

“We’ll have to have you around more often…” he repeated.

She left without a word.

_“Confiture_! _êtes-vous sourd?!”_

“Don’t most young boys fancy their sitters?” She had responded, softly. Back to the afternoon everything changed.

It had been a blistering summer. She had spent most of her days up to her knees in grass and mud and the tiny, tinkling of child’s laughter.

One sitting job had turned to two, two had turned to three, and before she knew it, Vicky was on her hands and knees pleading with Rose to watch the children practically full-time. Rose was easily persuaded. Her post-school plans had been of a glaring absence for some time now. This would, at least, quell the hungering questions from mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles in regards to her future. For the moment.

She spent that summer living partially in dream worlds transposed from the mind of her young ward. She and Remy fought dragons and found ancient treasure and drew patterns in the sky with their words. All with Margot in tow; not fully trusting of the worlds harrowing realities, but slowly and surely getting there. They ate cheese sandwiches under willow trees and counted ants that walked by. They made up songs about blue houses, and mice with shoes. Their skin became freckled and golden; their feet painted earthen with dirt and grass. He called her _Queen of Willows Ward._

She called him _Moon Child…_ But you already knew that.

_He_ began working from home. Just a day or two a week- but that was enough. Rose found herself counting down the hours till those eyes could burn intricate patterns through the linen of her summer dresses. At first, the notions of this blatant physical admiration were drawn more from fanciful loneliness, she felt. She could bask in the warmth of the attention due to the unattainability of his nature.

Then _,_ she began to see patterns. She would put the baby down for a nap, Remy would soon follow suit. She would quietly tidy; placing toys back in baskets, opening windows so the blossoms opened by summer could fill the home with their subtle offerings. Almost like clockwork, he would emerge from his office; allowing a tactful excuse to slip from those beguiling lips.

He would ask her about her family; feign a small amount of interest in the goings on of her friends. She would try not to pay mind to the goosebumps steadily lifting from her skin as he would pass behind her, reaching for a glass on the shelf -conveniently adjacent to her.

In the hour or so of children’s slumber, he began gleaning kernels of knowledge with which to gain access to those inner spinning universes she kept so closely guarded.

He would put on a record; something slow and evocative- ask her what she thought. He would offer her a book he felt she would like; the pages of which would often contain the taciturn simmerings of men in heady, reckless passions. She would take them home with her; allowing her body to enveloped in flame as she read the hungering words. He would come from the market, a tiny basket of strawberries in hand. Her favorite- she had told him. They would devour the fruit; their lips stained red with juice, eyes lidded with improper, unspoken words.

She knew what he was doing. She knew from that very first night exactly what he wanted. Every song, every book, every tooth sank deep into the soft flesh of fruit spelled out his errant desire for her. She should have felt the burdened sorrow of his infidelity, should have felt the indignation of his callous pursuit, should have felt her own guilt-ridden conscience so heedlessly pursuing her cousin’s husband. She should have felt a great deal of things…

But she didn’t. She, instead, was all-consumed by intoxicating, life-altering, sun-bathed, starry-eyed, unfathomable _lust_. Those eyes had set fire to everything inside of her and she could only feel the wayward flames curling and coursing through her body.She both yearned for and dreaded his imminent claim upon her. She knew it was coming, it was just a matter of who was willing to kneel first; who would admit delectable defeat.

“Most young boys don’t have sitters as devoted to them as he does…”, he had said. Another languid sip from his beer. How she wished she could be that amber bottle…

“ _Devoted_ is a strong word…”, she had countered, lifting her eyes. The afternoon sun was catching against the light of the window, making him appear luminous; almost holy.

“He’s lucky to have you.” A clink of the bottle against the counter.

“I’m-“ she stopped; her words catching in her throat. The light had shifted along with his person as he moved for her; the spell finally broken.

His hands on her face, wrapped softly around the base of her skull; capturing her in exquisite submission.

“Lucky to have you…”, he breathed. Those beguiling lips and burning eyes made it impossible to tell exactly who the lucky one was.

_“Écoute moi, confiture!”_

Her world shifted, whisking her away from the golden, heavy, debaucherous kitchen. As she registered the sound of voices calling her, she could feel his hands slowly sliding down her body; slowly leaving her, slowly melting into her memories.

“Confiture!”, a tiny explosion of anger registered nearby. The stifling heat and electric blue skies came and hit Rose with such a ferocity, she felt like she had been submerged under water, now gasping for air.

She turned to the source of the upset, her eyes registering on a small figure rushing towards her; golden hair and eyes too weary for such a young vessel to be holding them.

She rose from her seated position, brushing the small blades of grass that had become indented in her palm during her meditations. Feeling a small current of air brush through her fingertips, she looked up to see a wild, whipping wind coursing through the trees. Strange for the time of day.

“In english, Blanche…”, she sighed, caught off guard by the enervating slightness in her own voice. Perhaps her tone would not sound so tiresome had she not said those exact words countless times since arriving at her newest place of employment.

_“In english, Blanche!”_ , mocked the little girl, stamping her foot haughtily; a move much too juvenile for someone at eight years of age.

Rose looked past her tantrum-ing ward, scanning the surrounding area for her other. Felix, just four, was sat beneath a tree; his usual pensive nature directed towards a small set of figurines he took everywhere with him.

“Écoute _moi_ , confiture!”, the girl stamped her foot again. Rose found it quite comical the way her golden curls would bounce with each impetuous stomp driven into the grass below.

Most would find Blanche Fauxcheu impossible. She had a power behind her brattiness Rose had yet to encounter in any other child. However, beneath her deeply spoiled and woefully vain exterior was something hardened by years of disregard. She was wounded; something that made her resolve almost iron-clad.

Almost. Blanche was not impossible to Rose. Frustratingly incorrigible? Yes. But not impossible.

She could see every placating habit the girl had been given in the place of love. She could see every fitful tantrum quelled with candy or presents; seen each haughty turn of phrase given attention with gales of laughter and a pat on the cheek. She could see every nanny brought to their wits-end, finally giving in to her tempestuous nature. All surmising the same tragic reality; Blanche was not worth their effort.

As Rose looked at the girl, matching her fiery indignation with neutral anticipation, she saw the frustration beneath the surface rise and then slowly settle. Blanche had begun to learn how decidedly immovable her new au pair was.

“Listen to me…”, she said slowly, her eyes fluttering lightly.

Rose smiled softly, “Oh, is _that_ what you wanted? Why didn’t you just say so?”

Her face maintained it’s stoney exterior, but Rose could see a small smile twitching beneath pursed lips.

“ _Mon bête confiture…”_ the girl drawled, somewhere between a taunt and an affectation. Rose let her have it.

‘ _Confiture_ ’, or more often ‘ _Bête confiture_ ’ was something of a nickname bestowed to Rose upon her initial arrival. On their very first meeting, Blanche had pointed to her head, the mass of red hair a humid halo in the summer heat, and declared “Elle est une bête confiture”…

The direct translation being “She is a beast jam”. Rose surmised it was something of an insult.

_You are a stupid jar of jelly._

Rose didn’t mind. Somewhere in the month she had been with the family, the taunt had evolved from an angry “Une bête confiture!” towards a soft, more owning, “Mon bête confiture…”

_My_ stupid jar of jelly.

The whipping air picked up again; startling Felix from his imaginary adventures. His blue eyes found Rose-

“…Wind!”, he said with a smile, pointing up at the dancing trees. The lilt of his little accent making the word transpire as ‘ _wee-nd’._ Felix was easy to love. If Blanche was a torrential rainstorm; the world an unlucky boat lost in the treacherous waves of her malice, Felix was the immeasurable stillness of a lake at daybreak; its glossy surface broken only by gentle winds sweeping in to touch the waters.

“Très bon, Felix!”, said Rose, “Yes, wind…”

Blanche huffed, “In _english_ , Confiture…” Her haughty spark returning.

Rose reached down and gently touched her chin, “You are too smart for your own good- you know that?”

She often did not know how much Blanche and Felix _actually_ understood of what she said. She suspected the elder knew more than she let on..

She found she did not speak much in the realm of her new employment. Her young, french wards had a minimal understanding of the english language; and an even more minimal desire to speak it. The House Elves employed at the estate came from a long line of Italian ancestry, and their thinly guised disregard for Rose aided in her encountering very little means of conversation that did not end in _si, no, grazie_ and _por favore_.

However, Rose had found there was much that was understood in-between words spoken. She could surmise what she needed to know from the tone of their voice; from the inference in their eyes. Perhaps that was how it was with everyone; mattering less the translational nature of speech, and more the contextual nature behind it.

Perhaps Rose, gravely silent and endlessly empathetic, was better suited towards a life of wordless interpretation.

The wind picked up again, this time with such force it caused the dress she was wearing to catch and move rapidly. The golden curls of her french charges picked up and blew about wildly; inciting a fearful Felix to run into her arms and bury his face in her neck.

Rose anticipated the blued shadows of heavy rain clouds, as the wind was akin to the thunderous, late-July storms plaguing their countryside the past few weeks. However, the sky was the same un-mottled swatch of electric blue; not a cloud to be seen.

The rapid movement of the wind increased, causing even Blanche to move closer towards Rose, her eyes cast upwards with a tremor of fear.

The three of them began to move back towards the estate; shielding themselves from the gravel of the driveway, now picking up and swiftly transgressing towards them. There was an unnatural quality to the force of the weather. The poplar trees towards the manor gate were whipping so wildly, Rose feared they would become uprooted

Suddenly, everything stopped. An eerie echo of laughter could be heard from the farthest reaches of the property. The unmistakable cackling grew louder and louder until, all at once, the poplar trees bent forward in a chillingly unnatural way and a slight, purple haze was cast about the entrance.

A sound like the pop of a champagne bottle and the form of two sporting vehicles flew through the air; as if spit out from the purple haze. Blanche let out a small scream; the force of the extrusion causing the unsuspecting trio to be practically knocked off their feet.

The first car was the red Aston Martin. A favorite of Monsieur Faucheux; Blanche and Felix’s father. The second was a small, sleek black car. She did not recognize it.

As the dust settled, Rose could hear peals of heady laughter coming from the attendee’s, now emerging from the two vehicles. She registered the boisterous voice of Monsieur Faucheux.

“Oui d’accord! Oui d’accord!” His was a presence that could be felt, even from the back wall Rose was currently pressed against. “Vous gagnez!"

He was holding up his hands towards the black car, in mock surrender. _Okay, okay._ _You win._

The tinkling, breathless voice of Madame Faucheux carried through the dust

“Bien joué!”, she cried, clapping her hands towards the inhabitants of the smaller, black vehicle. Her hair was swept into an impeccable updo; caressed by a silk scarf, as effortless as an afterthought.

Like her daughter, Blanche, Vivianne Faucheux was impossibly beautiful. Her honeyed locks and sparkling eyes were added adorning on artfully aristocratic features. She carried herself with the air of someone who needed neither the money nor consequence to be so delightful to look upon. She had been born into privilege, married into more money and subsequently lived her life with the ease and cadence of someone who had very little to concern herself with.

Vivianne liked Rose. She liked the outward meekness Rose held, and the advanced status of her familial standing. Rose was the daughter of two _heroes_. And, like a delicately prized figurine, she enjoyed displaying Rose’s obvious submission in the hierarchy of the Faucheux household.

She would often have Rose come down for dinner, when guests arrived; taking the opportune moment to flaunt her claim over the esteemed nanny from England. If someone as low in status as a _nanny_ could hold the interesting caveat of a family of notoriety, _imagine_ what that must say about the Faucheux’s.

Rose did not mind. She knew she should feel the heavy insolence of manipulation; that she was not a puppet to be pulled out, showing her colors for the sake of elitism, but she did not. She did not feel much in _any_ wayward sense, these days. Prior to accepting the position, all feeling within her had subsequently been bled out and buried. Her body still carried intuitive blueprints of lovers hands and whispered words, but her heart carried no trace of it’s tortured past.

The parties from the unknown vehicle exited, making their stark presence known to the electric blue skies and dancing poplar trees. Both were male. Both tall, distinguished; the striking smartness of their attire aiding in the air of nonpareil status. One was larger and dark; he had been sitting in the passenger seat. The driver was fair and lean, a dark pair of glasses stood sharp against the pale of his skin. Rose found herself instinctively distrustful of his aristocratic nose and dry laughter; almost as if she had heard it before.

Blanche broke away from Rose, realizing the party was familiar. Her speed was impressive, and eyes darted mischievously between the new guests. Felix still clung to Rose; his tiny frame slightly quivering. The figurines in hand imprinted into the skin of Rose’s chest; a small, plastic sword lancing her slightly.

“ _Maman_!”, screamed Blanche, the hard heel of her boots scraping across the gravel.

Rose flinched; knowing Vivinne’s distaste for the screams of children. Even her own.

The Mrs. Faucheux turned; her face painted with a mixture of surprise and slight annoyance. This, it seemed, was the face she reserved solely for her son and daughter, anytime they had the notion of invading on her carefully esteemed exterior.

Blanche rounded the corner of the Aston Martin and barreled straight into her mother; her sparkling eyes intent on maternal embrace. “ _Maman! Maman_!”

Vivienne held her daughter at a distance; pulling her skirt up, so as not to dirty her petticoat with the dust Blanche’s momentum had kicked up.

“Calmez-vous, Blanche!”, she chastised, her eyes looking over her daughter’s wind-swept hair, intent on finding the person whose job it was to retain her young child until necessary presence was requested. Rose was already moving quickly towards the party.

Vivienne gave Rose an exasperated look; her face then scanning back to Blanche.

“Tu dois être une dame…”, she sighed, placing herself further away from her daughter, and looking down critically at her. “Les dames ne courent pas”

_You must be a lady. Ladies do not run._

Rose swiftly cut in, placing a hand on Blanche’s shoulder. She did not miss the way the young girl fiercely wrought away from the touch; as if she was burnt by Rose’s tenderness. Felix had still not brought his face out of the crook of his nanny’s neck.

“Ah Bonjour, Rose-“, soughed Vivienne, placing a non-existent stray hair back into place. “We are back early.”

Rose nodded; shifting Felix in her arms. The Faucheux’s schedule was so often effervescent in its comings and goings, she rarely knew what time or hour she could encounter her esteemed patrons.

“How are…?” the Madame asked; trailing a weak wave of her hand towards the two blondes hung off the side of their nanny. Her children.

Rose made another subtle attempt towards comfort with Blanche; but all she got was an indignant cross of her arm.

“Very well, _merci._ ” She sighed; squinting against the burgeoning sunlight. She could see the forms of the two strangers outlined in her peripherals. “We were just out in the gardens when you-”

“-And the English?” Vivienne inquired distractedly; signaling with a slight snap of her fingers for the bevy of House Elves employed to begin carrying in the luggage.

Ah, the _English_. Rose’s entire entry to the grand lives of the Faucheuxs.

Vivienne’s notion of refined offspring held the advantageousness of entering -by proxy- whatever society she ultimately deemed worthy. After the most recent nanny had fled; finally breaking under Blanche’s mighty tyranny, Vivienne had decided the next one might as well hold some sort of value in the upbringing of her incorrigible daughter and unassuming son. She would find someone _English_ to teach them _English_.

It was actually Louis who had informed Rose of this sudden opportunity. Wayward and impetuous in his own right; Louis had never _really_ felt like a Weasley. His vixen-like prowess and veela blood kept him in a state of constant detachment. He was the only one who had chosen to attend _Beuxbatons_ and he had stayed in France since then. It was, in all honesty, something Rose had always liked about him. Had she not been so enigmatically isolated by the power of her own internal cosmos, the two of them might have been much closer.

_Do you fancy a summer in France?_

His letter had read.

_Mother has a cousin who is in need of an au pair. If you keep to yourself and know your place, I imagine you’ll find the whole of it entirely tolerable. Send word if you’re interested._

It was like a sign from the gods. The desperation inspired by months of heavy, sinful insolence had wrecked her. She was compulsively and heedlessly obsessed with a man who she should not love. They were reaching a frenetic breaking-point. It was only a matter of time before their passion boiled over into molten shards of infidelity and betrayal. The family could not _ever_ find out.

She responded immediately and her position was secured within a fortnight.

She had bid Vicky a sudden goodbye via letter; stating a blisteringly nonsensical reason for departure. She did not tell Teddy goodbye.

The hardest part was looking into Remy’s eyes on her final days in the Lupin household. She was too much of a coward to tell him she would be leaving for good; their hearts had wound together so tenderly in their year of kinship. He was seven now and his love for her was pure and delicate and intricately special in the way one’s love is for someone who can gaze upon your soul and understand it endlessly. She hugged him so fiercely that final afternoon; finding a sheath of tears welling behind her eyes. She was his queen. He was her _moon child_.

And to save all parties involved; she prayed he would forget her as quickly as he possibly could.

“Their English is improving every day,” she nodded; bringing herself out of her imbruing thoughts and nudging the cowering toddler she held in her arms, “Felix, tell _maman_ about the trees moving…”

Felix scrunched his nose; bashfully turning towards his mother.   
  
“So much... _wind,_ ” he whispered shyly.

Vivenne was pleased; giving her son a slight pat on the back. “Et toi, Blanche?”

Blanche twisted her mouth; giving Rose a covert look of haughty distain. Rose could see an internal battle happening within the young girl. On one hand, there was nothing Blanche delighted in more than undermining her caretakers attempts at education. On the other hand; her mother’s dismissal of attention was a much deeper bruise she did not feel keen on acquiring.

“I-” she started; her eyes darting between Rose and her mother, “I...am too smart for my own good.”

Rose was impressed and exasperated in equal measure. Vivienne gave her daughter a strange little look, unsure of the statement. She opened her mouth to respond when suddenly, Blanche caught a better look at the new guests. Her eyes lit with delighted familiarity.

“ _Mon Frére!”_ she exclaimed with vigor; the frills of her summer dress bouncing again with a kick of gravel.

One of the strangers had moved towards the conversing party; his tall, lean frame dark against her vision.

“Ah! _Mon petite monstre!”_ , he growled affectionately; lifting the slight ingenue and spinning her lightly. _My little monster._

Rose felt the snap of Vivienne’s exasperation; silently commanding her employed to fetch the youth who was laboriously bestowing attention on an unsuspecting guest.

“ _Blanche_!”, cried Rose; shifting Felix again to place his feet back on the ground. He cowered; clinging tightly to her hand. “Come inside; _mon cherie_ , we need to wash-up for-“

The stranger turned; his eyes resting on the sudden source of command. Rose felt her words fly; the flash of silver from his iris’s slicing through her like ice. Her silent cocoon of safety came to suffocate her; reminding her succinctly of life’s cold hand of unrelenting familiarity.

This guest was _far_ from a stranger.

Her world seemed to slow for a moment, in the grand way one's world _does_ when two abstract components of life decide to clash together with absence of fortuity. 

She felt the young man‘s eyes dig into hers, inspiring spires of unsavory memories to construct beneath the surface of her skin. Her blood ran cold. His gaze cast a wash over her person; the insolence of recognition igniting a thinly disguised sneer.

Did he know her? _Of course he knew her._

Even at school, he would never bestow her the true deference of apathy. A cool gaze would _always_ be shot towards her; an attempt to bruise the guard of disinterest she held up so deliberately. His presence was always geared towards condescension; his manner always braised with privileged elegance.

His affect was one of calculated brilliance; sinful silence. He was better than every _mere_ mortal surrounding him and he knew it. They had not shared more than a handful of exchanges in their time spent together. Not a single one could be construed as worthy of his time. Rose had not despised many in the years she had graced the orbiting earth, her nature did not permit it. But she had _despised_ the boy now standing opposite to her; the dust settling around them like eerie snowfall.

One of the exuding graces from leaving school completely was the promise that she would be forever parting with the atrocious aristocratic sect he hung with and the labors of malcontent they exuded towards her family- Albus especially.

And here he was. Of all people. _Scorpius Malfoy._

The spineless sanctuary she had shrouded herself in for the past month was being ripped apart by a flaxen monster who’s silver eyes made her feel smaller and more insignificant than she thought possible.

His mouth parted; a recognant form of words spilling against the shine of his white teeth.

“Wea-“

“ _Blanche!”_ , she commanded again; her eyes dropping to the dirt below. She would not recognize him. She would not give him that power. “Inside. Now.”

Blanche obeyed; a small miracle in the grand scheme of the interaction. The young girl had never heard such a power behind the voice of her nanny; she was slightly startled.

Rose walked the two children quickly towards the servants entrance; the deadened galaxies within her igniting with sudden alarm. The subtle interaction felt like a torrential explosion compared to the listless orbiting her grey-world had submitted to within the last month. She had not felt the fiery energy of indignation, or the rioting shells of fear since she had left England. She hardly knew what to do with herself.

She heard Vivienne’s voice croon softly to the source of her swift upset.

“Scorpius, gavroche… Est-ce que tu la connais?”

_Do you know her?_

Rose did not care to hear his response. If the heightening pulse of blood coursing through her veins was any indication, she already knew what his disparaging answer would be.

\--------------------------------------

Next chapter coming very, very soon. Let me know what you think. I wanted to write a depressed and heartbroken Rose with no family loyalty and Scorpius as a bored and aristocratic elitist. I think the dynamic will be very interesting to experience, as they both really have nothing to gain or lose in their immediate interactions with one another. Just chemistry.

I listened to the piece: French Suite No. 3 in B Minor by Bach while I wrote this. It has that very despondent simplicity I felt whilst writing. If you are interested, I would highly recommend listening.

Reviews are _always_ appreciated!

Xo


	2. Insolence

The rain did come.

It was quick and aching; with sudden, treacherous malice. As Rose walked heel-to-toe down the darkening stretches of carpeted hallway, Blanche and Felix by her side, she felt the shadowed onslaught akin to the slowly deepening interiors of her mind.

_Scorpius Malfoy_ was here.

A growing stack of letters was nestled inside the linen-filled trunk she kept at the end of her bed. Unopened, unanswered letters; most with the refined, looping penmanship her mother had carefully inscribed. Some of the letters were smaller, more desperate; with a rough adolescent crawl. They were from Albus. There was one other letter; one whose thick, brown paper and clean lines brought a ruddy panic of uncertainty flooding straight to her core.

Unceremonious questioning from her family members felt more like a dull weight. She did not feel she owed them much -with exception to Albus- so the speed with which she responded did not feel pertinent. The one letter, however, brought to her by a sleek brown owl she felt guilty for knowing on sight, felt treacherous and owning. The contents of said letter she both craved and dreaded reading.

Although Scorpius Malfoy was _not_ within the realm of family or friend; he bridged the gap between the safe haven of servitude she had submitted herself to and the real world; where her conscience was shredded by impurity and heartache.

Thinking of his cutting silver irises, and the cruel sneer he was so willing to oblige her; made the burning stack of letters feel larger and more duplicitous in nature. She could see the heavy parchments unfurling and reciting the odious words contained right before her very eyes.

" _Aie!"_ She heard Blanche cry suddenly; her small hand wrenched from Rose's with force. " _Ma main!_ My hand-"

Rose had been so wrapped up in her torturous thoughts; she didn't realize she had been practically dragging Blanche down the imposing walkways of the Faucheaux estate. The shock of her nanny's biting tone had worn off, sending Blanche into a temperamental flurry punctuated by pointed fingers and a breathless undulation of angry french.

Rose took a deep breath; sending her turbulent, spinning galaxies to a place in her mind she could see to unpack and examine later, when she was alone.

"Ma cherie, _je suis desole…"_ , she said, softly grabbing Blanche's wrist again and pressing it tenderly. "Nettoyons-nous.." _Let's clean you up._

Blanche wretched her hand away again; her anger still boiling over. Rose could not keep up with the rapid words spilling out. Her small cheeks were red with fury. Rose knew this had less to do with her, and more to do with the dismissive exchange Blanche had shared with her mother. Only Vivienne could work her daughter into such a state as this.

"Blanche…", she sighed again; kneeling to the girl's level. "Listen to me."

" _Non, non, non!"_ she raged; her little fingers curled into fists against the petticoat of her starched dress. Rose glanced over at Felix. Accustomed to his sister's temperament, he had moved a few paces away. He now sat, partially hidden by lengthy curtains, playing again with his plastic figurines.

Rose waited out the screams; patiently anticipating a lull in the beleaguered cries. When Blanche became _this_ worked up there was little that could placate her. Rose was not at liberty to discipline her. Although at times, all she r _eally_ wanted was to give this child a swift smack on the behind and send her to bed without dinner. She could only wait out the inevitable.

"Would you like... a story?", Rose tested softly, sensing the fiery energy of her young ward beginning to abate.

There was a small, sharp inhale from the girl. The _one_ thing Rose had in her arsenal against the tirade of spoilt angst. Her stories. It was a trick she had picked up at school. Her own fanciful loneliness often gave way to bouts of daydreaming and fantasy. A slight mismatching of spells and the inherent power of her imagination gave her fantasies colors and sounds, bursting right before her very eyes.

As she got older, she found she could speak the pictures into existence, allowing them to play out in front of her. Children loved them. She could make imaginary friends come to life, or add an extra touch of magic to a bedtime fairy tale. Sometimes she would simply cast an image of the evening sky; allowing the universe's natural cosmos to tell a more compelling story of life and death than she ever could.

Blanche, against her better judgement, loved Rose's tales. She especially liked ones with wicked step-mothers and spells that held consequential vengeance. It was a rare treat Rose exhausted, saving her fanciful performances for when a reward was _absolutely_ necessary.

No child loved her stories more than Remy. They would spend hours laying under trees; crafting worlds with their spirited imaginations and creating jigsaws of different animals to delight Margot. She remembered, with a sudden internal pang, she had promised to teach him her magic once he became of age…

" _Combien?"_ Blanche whispered; her eyes still narrowed with suspicion. The spatter of the rain could be heard against the panes of glass behind her.

Rose kept her face neutral; awaiting the change. The young girl rolled her eyes.

"How _many_?" She bit out; her tongue punctuating every syllable. Her stance was still one of defense; her arms crossed in guard. Rose knew she was waning, however.

"If you bathe now, I will tell you _one_ story while we get ready.", Rose reasoned, moving to sit on her knees.

She saw Blanche's face contort into distaste; obviously unhappy with Rose's suggestion.

"Then-" Rose held an outstretched palm, "I will tell you another at bedtime."

Blanche thought about this for a moment. Rose could see her blue eyes deepen; her mind quickly weighing the odds. She really _was_ too smart for her own good. Cunning and calculating, with a very tepid _and_ fluid moral compass. Rose imagined she'd be a perfect candidate for Slytherin house, if she were not destined for a pristine future at Beauxbatons.

Speaking of _Slytherin…_ Her momentarily distracted mind flashed back to the mocking gaze of her fellow alumni. He was now situated somewhere within the massive estate; probably ruminating on ways with which to exacerbate her inferior status. The knowledge alone made her skin crawl. Despite the definitive distance between her own quarters and where guests stayed, there was simply not enough mileage separating the two of them.

"You will tell... _Sirène?_ ", Blanche reasoned after a time; her lips curling.

Rose nodded, "If you wish…"

"Et...la bête et la Belle?"

"Hmm?" Rose asked, cupping a hand to her ear in mock affect.

Blanche stomped her foot; but it held much less power than before "The beast and the... _beautiful_?"

Rose smiled; " _Oui_ …"

Blanche gave her nothing more than a haughty turn and a calculated tramp back down the rain shadowed hallway. She moved briskly past her younger brother, knocking his plastic battalion down.

"Come, Felix." She commanded in deliberate, perfect english; her blue eyes filled with mirth, "It is time for a _story…"_

—

" _So, she tragically waded through the fog…_ ", Rose's voice called softly over the deepening crackle of the fireplace, "Her heart _breaking_ beneath the weight of the Prince's love for another woman…"

A gentle mist had been conjured to set the stage for the requested tale. The audience members sat nestled together in the center of the large bedroom, while the story played out before them.

Blanche was seated in front of Rose; her damp hair being decidedly brushed and wrapped into exacting, deliberate plaits. It was a ritual the two of them partook in each evening. Vivienne liked her daughter's person to be immaculate; even during bedtime.

A fading blue figure was wading in and out of the audience's vision; the color of her person being slowly drawn away by an ocean current swirling nearby.

Rose ran her brush through the girl's long, golden locks; careful not to snatch too harshly on any tangles. Blanche's _tender head_ was an easy catalyst for juvenile rage.

"As Ariélle dipped her newly formed feet into the waves, she found her person slowly disappearing..." Rose continued; the figure in question began to catch and dissolve into the crashing waves of the pictorial ocean. "She took one last look at the grand castle her Prince resided in, and decided a life without his affection was _not_ a life worth living…"

The glittering fractals of the blue, waning figure were almost completely dissolved. Blanche turned in her seat; tugging lightly at the lock of hair Rose was detangling.

" _Alor…"_ , she sighed; her tired eyes alighting wickedly, " _Elle meurt?_ "

Rose bit back a laugh, "Yes, then she _dies…_ "

"The _best_ part…"

The figure dissolved completely; the treacherous waves taking her form and leaving no more than a relishing shade of blue washing slightly against the shores.

"Her body became nothing more than seafoam..." Rose whispered darkly; her lips twitching slightly at Felix's decidedly bored sprawl against the plush carpet, "She had given her soul to a man who could not love her back, and in return, she was forced to return to the world she had abandoned."

The colors of the waves slowly shifted; transforming into the murky depths of a deep ocean. The tiny, blue fractals waned and drifted and slowly sank; leaving an empty canvas of magic in front of the trio.

Blanche turned again suddenly; her eyes narrowed.

"Est-ce fini?", she demanded; her brows furrowing. "Où la falaise? Le meurte?"

_Where is the cliff? Where is the death?_

Rose sighed, moving Blanche's head back in place to continue brushing. "I told you a different version… _Autre_."

"Non…" She shook her head; refusing. "Tell the other. Tell... _right_."

Rose's lips twitched again; finding Blanche's penchant for the _macabre_ to be rather charming at times.

"You must ask me kindly…"

The young girl's hands twitched in her lap.

" _Please_ …", she strained, "Tell the one with... _death_ death."

The empty ocean, moving menacingly in front of them, shifted in a moment; the blue particles reshaping and reorienting themselves to show the figure from before. She placed the character on a large, jagged precipice. Instead of a melancholy fog setting the stage; whipping currents of black and grey circled about the figure; causing the glittering tendrils of her hair to catch and dance in the wind.

She could feel Blanche bristle with anticipation as the theatrics played out before her.

With a slight nod of her head; instead of the figure languidly dissolving with latent and depressive metaphor, Rose had her violently flung from the height she was stood atop. The blue, treacherous waves moved suddenly; rapidly transforming -instead- into a fiery undulation of molten lava.

Blanche gasped with delight; clasping her hands in front of her. Felix's little head shot up from daydream, the orange bellows alighting his face.

Angry flames burst from the sea, wrapping around the blue figure; contorting and condensing her blistering body until it dissolved into ash.

"Arielle gave her soul back to the sea…" Rose started up again, giving her enactment a theatrical brevity, "But, her _punishment_ for her folly was severe. The waters were no longer her home and her body burned; wasting away until she was nothing more than brittle grains of sand…"

Blanche's countenance glowed as the fiery vision settled before her eyes. Felix's little face was wide; not having fully composed itself from the abrupt change in tone. Rose smiled to herself, beginning to wrap a ribbon around the ends of her first finished plait.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the front of the room. Subtle. Somewhere between a cough and a growl. She looked up; finding herself suddenly shadowed by the familiar, silver eyes of Scorpius Malfoy; piercing her through the haze of the conjured molten.

"Gavroche!", Blanche cried suddenly, taking notice of the boy standing staunchly by the door.

Rose felt her entire body go rigid; a surging of unholy adrenaline coursing through her. It took everything in her power not to drop the bedtime ritual and bolt straight for the door. She dropped her eyes away from his; a thousand questions rushing through her all at once. _Why in Merlin's name was he here?_ -being the largest offender. The young girl in front of her moved to jump; yanking her delicate plaits out of Rose's grasp.

" _Blanche, sit_.", she commanded; perhaps in a harsher tone than was absolutely necessary. "We are not finished."

Blanche gave a small tug, testing the grip of Rose's hand, then settled back into a seated position, dragging with impetulence " _Bête Confiture…_ "

She felt her neck get hot with the young girl's exclamation of her somewhat _nasty_ nickname. The affectation had evolved for Rose and Blanche, so in other moments she did not feel the sting of the words. Scorpius did not know that, however, and she felt toppling embarrassment wash over her with the notion of him witnessing an eight-year-old mocking her, to her face, while she lay down and took it.

Scorpius moved forward; regarding Blanche in a clipped, but darkly velvet cascade of French.

Although her understanding of the language was limited, she could infer enough from the way Blanche responded; her small hands flippantly gesturing towards her nanny, that _she_ was a key player in their conversation.

Rose was caught by the subtle baritone. Whether it was distance or time, something about the nature of his speaking voice had altered since last encountering him at school.

She continued to weave the silky tendrils around one another; ignoring the nervous hammering of her heart, and an unfortunate tremble in her palms.

"I hope I am not…"

His voice was languid, but _not_ kind.

Her body seized again; a chill running down her spine. With a change in language, the words were directed towards herself. It was a very clear return to the cadence she was familiar with. She continued to braid; her momentary resolve being to keep her moving hands from shaking.

_What?_ She wanted to snap. _Bothering me? Intruding on my sacred space? Disrupting the very delicate fabric of my entire livelihood?_

Rose gave a move of her head that was nowhere between a nod or a shake. She would not meet his eyes.

She heard a short sigh, and a turn of his heel against the carpet.

"Cadeaux?" He called silkily, towards Blanche and Felix.

She knew that word. _Gifts_. Gifts were practically the _only_ language of love bestowed in the Faucheaux household.

" _Oh, Gavroche!"_ , sighed Blanche, her eyes widening and deepening. The sentiment held a flirtatious maturity Rose _knew_ was learned from the way Vivienne regarded the errant spoils from her husband. It bristled her in an uncomfortable way.

She kept a firm grip on Blanche's shoulder; sensing a repeat offense from when Scorpius had first arrived. " _Sit._ I am nearly done."

From the corner of her eye she could see him kneel; brandishing two exquisitely wrapped boxes and placing one in front of Felix.

The little boy did not cower; Rose noticed with surprise. He was normally one to run from those he was unfamiliar with. He would run from those he was _familiar_ with, as well. She was slightly shocked he had not bolted straight into the folds of her apron the _moment_ Scorpius had walked through the door.

"Pour vous, petit soldat", Malfoy gestured, his voice never losing that aristocratic edge, but holding a subtle tenderness that caused Rose's brow to furrow. _For you, little soldier._

Felix carefully placed his beloved, plastic figures next to him and went to unwrap the mystery package. After soft examination, he removed an exquisitely painted and very detailed aircraft; roughly the size of his own head.

His whole face shone as he examined the gift; his mouth opening in disbelief. Deftly, Scorpius brandished his wand, giving the plane a refined tap. The toy became momentarily weightless; soaring up to the high ceilings, then curving and looping around the grand room.

It landed neatly back into the boy's hands after a minute. His face had broken into the widest grin Rose had seen in her span of knowing him. The sight stirred something in her, causing her brow to furrow deeper.

" _Merci-_ ah", Felix exclaimed; finding words and then catching himself. His eyes darted to Rose, with a knowing smile. "Thank!"

She saw Scorpius's gaze narrow in her direction; the studied English coming from Felix being somewhat of a surprise.

"Ah-", He said, blinking once and turning back to the boy, with a gesture on the verge of a smile. "You're very welcome…"

Rose, mercifully, finished her second braid; giving the plaits a gentle tug to signify she was finished. Blanche shot up immediately, her little toes curling against the carpet with excitement.

" _Enfin!_ ", she sighed with exasperation, launching towards Scorpius with an eye-roll. " _Mon bête confiture…"_

The embarrassment returned at the nickname; _my stupid jar of jam_. She too launched herself up; moving towards a dresser on the other side of the room. She tried not to see those silver eyes narrow once more; busying herself with placing the combs and hair accoutrement back into place.

After a rustling of parchment and tissue, she heard Blanche give a delighted little shriek.

"Oh!", she cried; her breathy, coquettish tone returning. "Je l'amie!" _I love her._

Rose turned to see Blanche fling her arms about her spoiler; a decadent china doll held in the ruffled crook of her elbow.

Scorpius requested the doll from her, momentarily; studying her tiny porcelain frame, then moving his eyes back to Blanche. He tapped his chin; the threat of another smile beneath his lips.

"She has…", He sighed; a prod in the direction of Blanche's language skills in comparison to her little brother. "She has your...face."

Blanche cocked her head; obviously struggling with his choice of wording.

"My..fa-ce?"

He smiled, tapping the nose of the doll and then gently tapping her own. She beamed.

" _Ton visage…"_

" _Merci, Gavroche…"_ , she sighed; bringing the beautiful doll closer to her chest."Thank-you _very_ much."

Blanche then moved from Scorpius, showing off her new plaything to her comically uninterested brother. With the display of material affection done, Rose felt the growing tremors within her grow. The crackling fire added to the deafening tension.

He stood, unmoved. She stood, unmoved; her back faced staunchly away from him. She gripped the handle of the brush, still in her grasp, till it left red marks on her palm. Everything within her willed him to bid the children goodnight and leave the stifling room.

" _So, we shall be strangers still- is it?"_

Gone was any trace of the velvet from before. His tone was all hard lines and poised malice. She did not dare to speak, her voice betraying her -as it always did.

The silence welled between them for another beat; the warmth from the fire encroaching on a somewhat suffocating temperature. Her already anxious heart began to beat deeper and more treacherously.

"If that is what you wish, I would happily oblige.", he continued; the edge coming in full force. "Although, I don't really recall your person normally inclined towards _spite-"_

With the return of his bitter attention towards her; she was suddenly thrown back to her _even more_ miserable days at school. If time had taught her anything, it was the secure knowledge of how relentless Malfoy was in his pursuit of antagonism. The further she ran, the faster he would move.

"-Good evening, Malfoy.", she cut through the heavy air, turning to meet his stare. "I trust you had a pleasant journey."

He smirked and his eyes darkened. She felt a slight chill run through her, but held her gaze.

"Good evening, _Weasley_ …"

She hated the way his voice curled around her last name. He held it like captor teasing prey.

The conversation was not furthered by her. She clasped her hands behind her; an effort to wring her anxious fingers inconspicuously.

He moved forward. "Should I bother inquiring why _you_ -of all people- are employed as a… _caretaker_ for this family?"

She did not answer, again. She pursed her lips, holding that same defiant gaze. He placed an elbow on the edge of the mantle; leaning against it in a show of immobility.

"We're your post-school prospects really that grim?", He baited; cruelty lacing the edges of the smirk bestowed.

He would not be leaving any time soon.

"Travel opportunities.", she clipped, keeping her voice even.

He made a noise somewhere in between a scoff and a chuckle, sensing her obvious evasiveness.

"I see.", he drawled.

" _Bête confiture!",_ cried Blanche from her rug, obviously fed up with Felix's lack of interest in her ruffled companion " _Le histoire…"_

_The story._

On instinct, Rose gave her the look. The look meant to clearly impart: _We both know I'm not going to respond until you speak in the language your mother has requested, so you might as well just get on with it._

Blanche rolled her eyes, but did not give her more trouble. The influence of _cadeaux_ was a definite dampening of her normally willful _spirit_.

"One more. You _said_."

She caught another sudden narrowing of silver eyes before she turned her attention back to her voracious audience. There was something held beneath his exterior. Something she couldn't put her finger on; not quite menace, not quite surprise.

If she didn't know better, she could have sworn she saw a glint of _impress_ flit across his features.

" _Oui, ma cherie…",_ she sighed, grateful for an excuse to get him as far away from her as possible. "Say goodnight to Ma- _Gavroche_ …"

There was a surprising bit of malice laced in _her own_ tone, as she referred to his apparent pet name. _Gavroche_ was tongue-in-cheek, usually given to mischievous, trouble-making little boys.

However, the way she had viewed Vivienne's brief exchange with the _boy_ in question and the woman's penchant for always acquiring her _heart's desire_ , she imagined Scorpius was making much more trouble for _Monsieur_ Faucheaux, than anyone else.

His face darkened slightly; somehow catching the turn-of-phrase. Had she not been filled to the brim with brewing contention, she would have been somewhat thrown with his ability to read her.

"Story, you say?", He smirked, turning to Blanche "Is...the _au pair_ going to tell you a bedtime tale?"

Rose winced internally at the assault shown to the word "Au Pair". Apparently, he had not appreciated her insinuation.

" _Oui!"_ , cried Blanche, oblivious to the two adults volleying subtle insults at one another. _"Bête et Belle!"_

He turned back to Rose, his voice only a hair below a demand.

"How _fortunate_. That is one of my favorites."

Her body bristled again, her eyes burning into him. The thought of him bearing witness to her fanciful and somewhat sacred storytelling, made her insides squirm.

"Perhaps a little too _juvenile_ for your taste-", she grit out; careful to keep her tone neutral.

"-I insist."

It was not a discussion. It was a command. Had her young, French charges not been present, she may have put up a fight. She could not be certain. Her words were betraying her, slipping out of her grasp.

She felt the unnerving desire to retreat, to seclude herself in her own mind. She _hated_ him for it.

With the coldest, most unforgiving of stares, she moved her gaze from him and resumed her seated position on the carpet.

She slowed her breathing, moving her mind from his dark presence behind her and focused on conjuring the shimmering imaginings of a forest.

She felt her intentions shift, washing the scene in soft, supple watercolors of blue and pink. That was always her delight; subverting the vision. _A forest was meant to be green?_ Well, she would craft the most glittering, pastel wonderland of foliage made from washes of yellow and orange and baby blue.

As she felt the magic flow through her, the presence seated next to the fire became fuzzier and farther away. Her heartbeat lessened and her voice took on that slow, delicate tone she reserved for storytelling meant to lull one's audience towards dreamland.

"There once was a castle sat high above a quiet village. The beauty of the palace was often remarked upon…"

She moved the apparition forward; pushing through the shimmering forest and giving the onlookers the vision as she crafted the castle before their very eyes. She began shaping towering spires and laying intricate designs in the bricks.

She would be lying if she said there wasn't a small portion of her that was pulling out every innovation she had acquired in her practice. If her oppressive visitor was going to _insist_ he be present, she would give him a _bloody_ spectacle.

"-but a hideous evil lay lurking beneath the surface…"

The mirage shifted, as she crafted the interiors of the beautiful castle. Each piece of furniture was gilded and grand, with a surreptitious _emerald_ theme throughout. A figure marched down a newly formed cascade of stairs.

"A king, consumed by vanity and pride, ran rampant; terrorizing those who _dare_ spoil his desire for debauchery.."

Rose gave her _vain_ and _prideful_ king a somewhat familiar swatch of blonde hair and haughty, silver eyes. She could have _sworn_ she heard a scoff behind her. She didn't turn to gauge his reaction. She would not give him the satisfaction.

As she brought the supporting cast to life, she felt a small head lay against her lap; a very tired sigh escaping the tiny body. Rose brought a hand down to tenderly stroke the hairs on Blanche's golden head, and continued to weave her tale.

"One night, a hag..."

"His visage transformed; turning him back into the handsome ruler he was before the spell. Belle looked upon him as a stranger- fearful her beast, her _beloved_ beast,was lost forever-"

She had told the story with as much vim and circumstance as she could. Every image was gorgeously woven in front of them. She even felt herself, at times, forgetting the nature of the audience behind her.

"And then-"

She looked down; a small grin tugging at her lips. Blanche was deep in the throes of slumber; her frame cradled by the crook of Rose's folded legs. Her gaze drifted to Felix, stretched along the carpet and snoring lightly. He still had Scorpius's gift clutched in his grasp.

Rose sighed; rubbing her eyes and dipping her voice to just barely above a whisper.

" _She sprouted wings and flew off into the sky; but not before declaring passionate love for the candlestick-"_

Her wand was held up; the visual splendor of her bookish protagonist planting sloppy kisses against an empty candlestick swirled inwardly, until the last glittering fragments were tucked away into the wooden vessel.

"The end-", she whispered, adjusting to the din of the crackling fire.

"I don't recall _that_ particular finale... in the version I haveread."

His voice was not _all_ edge, as it had once been 40 minutes prior. There was the aristocratic lilt, but absent was the malice. One might even describe it as... _amicable_.

She kept her gaze fixed on the door on the far side of the room. Regardless of his change in tone, she was _not_ up for a friendly chat with Scorpius Malfoy. Perhaps if she wished hard enough, the imposing oak would take it upon itself to swallow his pale frame whole.

"Apologies.", she clipped, "Art is up to interpretation."

The fire crackled over a swell of silence.

"That-", he said after a moment; giving slow cause to his choice in verbage. "That was an… intriguingly impressive bit of magic displayed for my niece and nephew, just now. I don't recall your talent for... _anything_ being rather apparent when our paths once crossed."

She felt the familiar chill run up her spine as the malign returned to his careful words. She did not know whether it was the comfort and confidence provided by the last hour of magical folklore, or the fact that the younger audience was no longer conscious, but Rose felt herself shift.

With a vitriol that was entirely out-of-character, she turned to him, her icy tone and frosty glare letting him know _exactly_ the level of tolerance she would allow between the former classmates.

"I don't _recall_ asking for the back of your hand.", she snapped.

Nothing except a small quirk of his brow gave any indication that he had been affected by her acidity. Blanche, however, stirred in Rose's lap. She cast her eyes away from him, clearing her throat and stilling her form till the small child was -once again- sleeping soundly.

The fire crackled still.

"I wasn't aware of the relation.", She spoke softly towards the carpet in front of her. An admonishment from his sentiment had piqued her curiosity.

He gave her a withering look. "To whom?"

She responded with a gesture towards the sleeping _enfants_.

"Ah-" He replied; his voice taking on that same careful, distinguished tone. "In nomenclature only. Viv-"

He paused, with a delicate strum of his fingers against the armrest.

"The Madame Faucheux and I have been acquainted since childhood.", he crossed one leg over the other; settling himself in something of a _lounging_ position. Rose immediately regretted her inquiry.

"You could say she is something of an…", he paused, a haughty and knowing look gracing his features. "Older sister."

The twist of his lip gave way to a notion that vollied _far_ from platonic exchange. He was using her earlier insinuation against her. Typical Slytherin.

"How...enigmatic.", she sighed, dryly; hoping to match his taunt with a stare of opposing apathy.

She did not care for the way his taut form was eyeing her. It was not the spark of desire -no, that would be much easier to dismiss. It was something else. Something entirely unreadable.

"I am-", He began, leaning further into his seat.

"-Is there anything else you _need_ , Malfoy?" Her voice was quiet -learned from her earlier outburst- but she managed to inject enough poison into her question to see him shift slightly.

His eyes narrowed.

" _Bête confiture…_ "

She couldn't help the fluster of heat that ran to her cheeks. She felt her rekindled hatred for him coil and twist deep within her. How _dare_ he.

His lips twisted once more, "You _are_ aware of what it means?"

She was surprised -yet again- by the malice her tone took on. Her normal fatigue in keeping up with reality was replaced by a small spark of rage that buoyed her above her own thoughts.

"And I suppose _your_ caretaker's received insipid nicknames of a much higher caliber…"

He gave a patronizing little chuckle. His fingers strummed again against the armrest.

"-If I even felt the consequence of learning their names."

The silence settled again between them. The absolute insolence of his person aiding in her ability to stare him down with malignant animosity.

"There is only so much one as inferior as the _au pair_ can expect from the Miss Faucheaux.", she readied, her careful words holding weight in regards to the disrespect his verbiage had cast towards her title.

His eyes flashed.

"Who taught you?"

Rose did not answer; her steely gaze holding inquisition.

"The teacher of your visual trickery-" Scorpius drawled, referring to the story-telling he had bared witness to. "That was more than one is given lesson to in a Transfiguration class."

If she did not feel the depth of his aspersions towards her intelligence earlier, she certainly felt it now. She felt her loathing coil deeper.

"Self-accomplished." Her response was tight-lipped and defiant.

Rose kept her palms flat against the carpet. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fingers tremble with anger.

His eyes bore into hers. "I don't believe you."

The exterior of her person was stone, but his arching, spiteful words stung. Of course he didn't. _Why should he?_ She was not prone to or proud of any mounting success in her academic endeavors. The bitter comparison of her heritage only aided in the lack.

The expectation tied to her station as an _au pair_ was a sobering but beautiful relief. As long as she was dutiful and diligent, not one word was expected of her. Now, _he_ was here. Calling attention to the insignificance and inadequacies of her past.

She turned from him, wanting to -at least- keep her fractures to herself.

Scorpius spoke again, after a moment; his tone demanding "Tell me why you're here."

"Why should I?" She arched, defiantly. Rose was, once again, shaken by the quick and cutting nature of the words thrown his way. It gave a pleasing flicker within her that helped mask the internal bruise she was nursing.

He sighed. She could feel an arrogant eye-roll sent her way, despite the distance between them.

"I make it a point to avoid interacting with former school mates, if I can help it."

She scorned, matching his aggravated expression. "We are allaware of that, _to be sure_."

The silence grew again. Rose was caught between her own visceral disdain for his continuing presence and her genuine surprise at the change his bitter attentions had inspired in her ability to verbalize.

"Do you enjoy it?" He inquired after a moment.

She twisted her face in question.

"Your _employment_." He sighed; the word crawling with an air verging on disgust. "Does it fill you with satisfaction?"

She scoffed; an unsavory twist gracing her lips for the first time. "I'm surprised you even comprehend that word; _employment_."

His eyes flared again; a subtle pleasure-pain in her taunt. He was frustrated, but a vein of amusement was there beneath his countenance.

"We all must _stoop_ sometimes..." He parlayed, drumming his fingers once again.

"Yes." She gave, matching his haughty machinations "How do you expect to _terrorize_ the populous, if you do not _understand_ the populous?"

Another quirk of his brow. She regarded him fully in the orange glow. His dark wardrobe contrasted starkly with the pale, marbled features of his person. He sat so artfully, he looked as if he had practiced this very form a thousand times. He was the picture of a perfect pure-blood.

It inspired a shiver of contempt she felt down to her very core. Her spinning galaxies recoiled and revolted at the audacity of his attendance.

"So you loathe it?" He continued on the offense. "Working here- I can see it on your face."

His frightening ability to read her became apparent, once again. Her own _mother_ could barely decipher what was transpiring beneath Rose's absent surface. How did a loathsome aristocrat manage to so quickly decrypt her mask?

"I doubt I would find enjoyment _anywhere_ , to be perfectly frank." She moved her mind from the thought of his apparent intuition. "My employment status is entirely untied to the happiness I am currently capable of feeling."

This time, he was unable to mask his surprise. Perhaps he was not used to that level of candor. Especially coming from someone he held with such condescension. His head cocked to the side, ever so slightly.

Somewhat pensively, he sighed, "And this state of melancholy is tied to… _inherent nature_?"

A shift in his voice had softened the hard lines, but she did not trust it. Perhaps he assumed her admonition had proved some form of victory over her. He was wrong.

"Are you mocking me?"

He chuckled. No- not _chuckled_. It was between a laugh and a sneer, but it held no tangible joy. It fell on stony resolve.

"No more so than I normally am." He crossed his legs again; settling deeper into the dark velvet.

She bristled, changing the direction of the assault. "I received word of the employment opportunity from a cousin. The Delacour's and Faucheaux's are family- _I'm sure you know._ "

Back to their initial incursion. She had a drifting curiosity as to why he _was_ here -exactly. She deviously hoped it was her earlier insinuation. Nothing would give her more pleasure than to know he was merely an amorous plaything for Vivienne to manipulate and cast away as she saw fit. The thought filled her with power.

He saw it.

Scorpius, for the first time since their verbal spar began, moved his gaze from hers. His eyes fell to the young child, still lying in Rose's lap.

His exterior softened, suddenly. Much like it had when he first entered the room; bestowing presents to young ones he obviously felt _some_ ample affection for. It was a strange shift to behold.

"Is she a hellion?"

Rose looked down at the girl as well; gently smoothing down the loose, golden hairs that framed her deceptively angel-like face.

" _Quite_." She sighed, placidly. Her fingers danced over the twisted arm of Blanche's nightgown. She delicately tugged the fabric, righting and smoothing the garment.

She glanced up. His eyes were no longer fixed on Blanche, but on Rose. His features had not returned to their steely nuances. They were, in fact, still softened; a breath of inquisitiveness held beneath. It was a _stranger_ sight to behold.

Fortunately, he righted himself immediately, returning to his normal audacious and spiteful elegance with a quick clearing of his throat.

"Why- then?" His eyes narrowed. "Why not any other muddy, beleaguered connection you could acquire from the familial directory?"

" _Why_ the curiosity?" She challenged, careful to keep her tone low. Her stomach knotted with the sudden thought of him -or _anyone_ for that matter- knowing the full truth of why she had left England.

Scorpius regarded her with wickedness. "I am intrigued."

"How exquisite for you." Her voice dripped with unsubtle sarcasm.

He shifted again in his seat, now sizing her up. Somehow, in the game of cat and mouse, he had decided she was a worthy opponent. Or, at least, he had decided she was prey worth hunting. A puzzling sort of adrenaline was displaced through her. The freedom to be as ruthless and thoughtless as she wanted was unfamiliar, but enticing.

"From what I know…" He started, finding his rhythm in the artful nature of his speech. "Your family, despite their exponential expansiveness, seem to keep ties _very_ close. I find your apparent detachment worthy of further inquiry."

He paused; catching on a thought and moving his head to the side. The moment caught them both in a fraction of mutual understanding. She _loathed_ the feeling.

"Why does it feel like you're running _from_ something?"

Perhaps this is why she did not keep much company with _Slytherins_. They were too observant. Whether it was a skill gained by nature or nurture, she did not know. Every moment was an opportunity to glean information to be used for the ultimate prize. _Personal gain_.

She could not battle _that_ level of shrewdness.

"I like children." Rose maintained; her unwavering blues fixed on his deepening silvers "That's 'why' this job."

He barked a low laugh.

"You _like_ children." His disbelief was palpable. "You like _petite monstre?_ "

"I do…" She sighed, drifting back to the golden vision below her. "It is hard to be as exactingly terrible as Blanche, if you don't have ample intellect to back it with."

The withering arch of his brow was back.

She found her thoughts drifting to the small moments of triumph she had encountered with her willful pupil.

"She is clever and determined." She asserted, finding the ample truth in her words as she spoke them. "She's a child who knows herself. She can be wickedly funny, when she momentarily gives up the notion that I am a threat. I like her."

Scorpius was silent in response to her insistence.

"She has chased away her fair share of nurse maids." He mused, after a beat -almost to himself. "But you do not seem to be running…"

"We are all merely products of our environment, _Malfoy_." She supplied, carefully.

"Hmm." He gave, letting a sharp exhale leave his nose. "I suppose this style of child-rearing seems woefully _archaic_ to you."

' _Of course, you spoiled monster_ ' her mind conjured for her, suddenly. Even _she_ was taken back by the unspoken sentiment.

"I believe it is above my station to comment on matters of that sort." She evened, knowing there was only so much she could say before beginning an outright _war_ with the blonde imposed opposite to her.

He rolled his eyes. "Merlin- this isn't the _18th century_. We went to the same school."

"Yes." she snapped, rounding on him with menace. "And while we were there, it was made clear to everyone _exactly_ the rank you found my family and I sequestered into."

"We are no longer at Hogwarts..." He volleyed, giving a flippant little flick of his wrist.

"No, indeed." The hard line of her mouth piqued at the corners, giving way to a tight-lipped resolve. "And therefore, I shall keep my opinions to myself."

He scoffed again, leveraging himself into a standing position.

"Opinions." He practically spat; leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. "You talk as if they are treasured possessions."

Smug impertinence radiated from his form. With the blackness of his attire and the orange glow from the fire, he resembled an angry, smoldering ember. How she wished he were nothing but a burning bit of coal. It would be so easy to break his brittle body into glowing pieces and turn her attention away from this exhausting exchange.

"I can tell you have not had the privilege of the very fabric of your existence being relentlessly up for debate." She spat back.

Their voices were still masked by volume low enough to maintain the peaceful slumber of their audience, but as they edged further into conflict, Rose found it harder to keep the noise level.

"So, it's your brood's fault then?" He mused, pursing his lips with gleeful malcontent. "They are to blame for the misery."

Her eyes shot daggers. "No, fortunately, I have only _myself_ to blame."

His eyes shot back. "Alas, but we are _merely_ products of our environment."

She opened her mouth; a vengeful sigh escaping her lips.

"I do not believe..." She started; the brashness of her tone manifesting in a fearsome whisper. "You can expect to raise a well-rounded, decent, confident child if-"

"If what?" He cut in; astute facetiousness dragging from every word. "You're saying the substitution of presents and pampering in place of tangible affection will condition the child... _negatively_?"

She wanted to slap him. However, his admonishment engaged a level of understanding he seemed to possess beneath his detached exterior.

"Write a book on your discoveries." He continued. His unimpressed gaze moved back to the fire in front of him. "I'm sure the wizarding world is _keen_ to be enlightened."

Now it was her turn to scoff. Understanding be _damned_. How _dare_ he.

"Obviously, I am lacking in comprehension." She jabbed; her furious whisper mounting. "The _magnum opus_ of proper child-rearing is sat across from me-"

He whipped back to her; self-righteous fingertips splayed against his chest in enmity.

"-I have-"

She was too quick; barely registering his interruption.

"-the very _halls_ of Hogwarts were blessed by your grace, kindness and _benevolence_."

The final additions to her contemptuous blitz were punctuated by -now- steady hands thrown towards his slowly blackening eyes.

"Don't presume that you _know_ me, _Weasel_."

The most subtle wince danced at the base of his jaw. The juvenile insult translated into a minute victory for the red-head. Her words had gotten to him. She did not presume it was final; knowing she would eventually pay for her small triumph.

Their exteriors were mirrored blisters; practically burning holes in the carpet where their bodies were anchored.

The sleeping child lain her in lap was becoming an increasing liability. Rose was half-grateful for her immovable weight; not knowing what she was capable of if she was not firmly rooted to the ground.

Her seething whisper continued. "I know enough to know that you'd be a lot more tolerable if _mummy and daddy_ told you _no_ every once in a while."

If looks could _kill_. His mouth opened in irate disbelief.

"You-"

"Is there _anything else you need?"_ She finalized with vigor; unable to keep the conquering smirk from floating over her features.

She sensed her error immediately. Whatever power she had felt was dissipated the instant he turned back to her. She would not win, _no_. She had put up a good fight, but she was foolish to believe she had achieved anything more than prolonging her inevitable evisceration. Eyes black with outrage, he gave one sweep of her person.

"You've had your heart broken, _haven't you_?"

It was so cutting, she almost felt as if he had physically extracted all breath in her person. Naked shame washed over her. The force of his analysis stamped the flare of strength she had earlier felt from the sharpness of her own tongue. _How had he figured it out?_

He sneered at her obvious upset; their respective roles returning to normal stasis.

"Of course." He drawled, lapping at every word with twisted mirth. "Someone managed to open you up to the world's bitter offenses, and now you're spiteful and melancholy. How perfectly _pedestrian_ of you…"

Merlin, she loathed him. His mounting delight was palpable. His quick calculations of her motives before were inconvenient, but laced with impress. Now, his skill induced a feeling within that was bordering on terror.

"I'm surprised you managed to stay on the ground long enough for someone to grab your attention. What did you fall for?" He maintained his volume, but his words rang of delicious mockery. "A handsome formation of clouds? _The moon_?"

_You are the moon, Moon Child..._

With that, her fight was completely destroyed. She needed to leave _immediately_. The heat of the fire, the cruelty of his gaze. All of it was too much. Before she could place the heady, anguished memories back into their rightful place in her inner worlds, she saw brooding, golden eyes. She felt strong, impure hands ripping her apart and then cradling her back together.

With wisps of lovers' words swirling beneath her careful fortress, she regarded Scorpius one last time, placing all strength she had left into dismissing herself with dignity.

"I have a job to do, _Malfoy._ " Her voice was steady, but her hate was visceral. She burned every wretched bit of malcontent she had felt over the past months into her stare. "Please leave, so I can put the children to bed."

With the terminal words, she removed her gaze from his and removed him completely from her mind. She did not care to see a curious bit of mirth suddenly leave his features or a subtle stoop grace his staunchly righted frame. It would have filled her with an even deeper sense of unrest.

Blanche's sleeping form was extracted from the comfort of her nanny's person. Rose lifted her; careful not to disturb, and placed her on the large bed on the far side of the grand room. She could hear nothing but the continuing crackle of the fireplace as Blanche sighed and burrowed herself into the solace of soft linens and dauntless dreams.

Rose turned back to the where Felix lay stretched in front of the carpet; praying she would find the room decidedly absent of it's vested interloper. That was not the case.

She stilled, finding instead the small child had already been carried and placed into his own bed.

He was not immediately transformed into the picture of paternal grace -no, there was still a thwarting stiffness to his affection. However, as she watched Scorpius gently extract the -now beloved- plane from Felix's embrace and place it on the nightstand next to him, she was thrown by the softness exhibited.

A smile, a real smile, twitched just behind the hard lines of his mouth; almost as if he would not allow himself the full luxury of indulging in the tender exchange.

The movement, and it's growing nuances, made her almost feel sorry for him. _Almost_.

He righted himself; sensing her eyes on him. Neither one moved. Rose could feel her resolve for him clouding. She did not want to see him as something complex. She did not want curiosity piqued by his contradictory actions.

He opened his mouth to speak; his voice clipped, but not unkind.

"Do not begrudge them the same despairing fate you have given me. Despite her unfortunate upbringing, Blanche is not evil."

Both sets of eyes fell on the girl. In sleep, her perpetual scowl was erased. She looked almost happy. One would never know the obliterating misery someone so small could contain within her.

Rose kept her silence, but looked back at him. As she had no question now that he was perfectly capable of decoding her thoughts; she did not feel words were necessary. In the space of the stillness, she watched his eyes move across her features.

_Of course, she would not paint them for the follies of their parentage -or lack thereof. But she would -in fact- begrudge him. Regardless of his hidden niceties._

"And Felix…" He said, faintly, after a moment; turning his head to the other side of the room.

Rose sighed; her thoughts musing on her sensitive, little soldier. "Not a temperament could be more docile…"

He gave a single nod of his head; acquiescing to her sentiment.

Exhaustion rippled through her. Now she had reached her final destination in what was expected of her employment, all she craved was the silent space to unlock her morbid and moving universe and revel in the bittersweet consequence of memories she should not possess.

She untied her apron; folding the garment and resting it at the foot of Blanche's bed. Scorpius watched as she removed her wand from her pocket and flicked her wrist towards the ceiling.

Perhaps she had not removed him _completely_ from her mind, as the moody, starlit scene of the night sky she conjured aired more on the side of impress. Instead of a simple swatch against the high, dark wood, she enveloped the entire room in her magic. Sparkling stars, and faint strokes of color moved between the two enemies, casting a soft smattering of light that danced along their features.

The smug look she gave once she was done rang as close to expletive as she would allow. He read her rightful self-satisfaction and narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you despise me?"

She practically barked out a laugh; settling instead for an astonished scoff as she moved through the astral menagerie, back towards the fireplace. He followed.

"Do you feel you have _not_ earned the sentiment?" She eyed him with incredulity; giving the children's room a final sweep and placing things back into order.

"I'd rather like to know the reasoning." He said back, simply. He had halted in front of the fireplace, observing her movement.

She met him at the mantle; a damp towel she had retrieved from the floor still in hand.

"You have everything." She answered plainly; the starlight moving between them gently. "You have always had everything."

He pursed his lips, attempting to unlock her words.

"Do I incite some form of... envy?"

And with his withering words, they were back to where they were before. Her visage was scathing. The damp towel in hand became the direct casualty of her immediate disdain. She suddenly felt the rush of words, falling out of her mouth with impressive candor.

"You have everything." She bruised, her anger rising. "And yet you are an insipid, self-centered prat, who doesn't even have the _decency_ to be unhappy."

His jaw clenched. "I'm sorry-"

"-You're bored." She spat; advancing on him. "I can see it under every breath. I can taste it in every word."

Silver eyes flashed; his stony expression continuing to mount.

"Why spend an hour, tormenting a former classmate you met with in animosity only?" She continued to dig, the hand not strangling the towel pointed towards him in accusation. "You're _so_ bored. It's pathetic."

He could only exhale; the contempt of her words swirling with the spinning cosmos surrounding them.

"Heartbreak has sharpened your tongue." He bit, acidly.

" _Insolence_ has sharpened my tongue." She bit back, with contempt.

Her features were, again, examined. His icy understanding washed over her, figuring whichever way he could contort himself into her mind and extort it's significant holdings.

He blinked once. Twice. Then leaned forward, adopting her encroaching tactics. When he spoke, his voice was low.

"And if I told you I was, in fact, deeply unhappy..?" He curled, the depth of his merciless features deepened by Rose's starry conjuring. "That my life enumerates to a series of opulent circumstances that leave me feeling empty and-"

She felt herself splinter; the depth of her frustration only expanding upon viewing the reality behind his eyes. He was taunting her; callously throwing her obvious insinuations back in her face. Worse than that, however, was the scrape of sorrow she saw behind his cold-hearted exterior. Something, she worried, he had not wanted her to see.

It was a subtle melancholy she had observed mirrored in her own aching expression. A relentless sadness that had thrown her away from the solace of those around her and forced her words deep down inside. Seeing the sudden similarity made her despise him even more.

"-I'd say you're a _liar_." She stabbed, ignoring the fidelity that transpired between them. "And cruelty contorts you in the ugliest way."

His mouth upturned with derision.

"I know you mean to lance me…" He sighed, the front of insult growing. "and, to be sure, a lesser being might wane under this verbal onslaught-"

"-get _over_ yourself." She disparaged; recoiling from their physical proximity. "I am here to work, I am here to teach English and tell _bedtime_ stories. I will not be a _play_ thing."

Rose then swiftly left; marching for the door with a rising heartbeat. Her hand clasped the large brass knob, when suddenly the vision of his hidden emotion flashed through her. Impulsively, she turned back, unable to shake the feeling it inspired.

Their eyes met.

"I hope, for your sake, you _are_ miserable." She gave with a defiant tip of her chin.

The artful twitch of his head returned, entertaining question at her remark.

"Because then there is hope for your ultimate salvation."

He did not smile, but a movement passed across his furrowed brow.

"You hope that for yourself?"

She did not like the way he took her in; as if he already knew the darkest and most secretive pieces of who she was. _What right did he have?_ _Who gave him permission to probe her like that? He knew nothing. Nothing._

"I bid you good evening." She nodded; turning the knob with vigor. "Perhaps the next time I am seeking refuge and employment, I'll request the manor _you're_ living in. That way it'll be more convenient for you to _terrorize_ me."

He smirked. "Good evening, _Bête…"_

She bit her lip; ignoring the return of her embarrassment. Her eyes narrowed. " _Belle…"_

Before she could endure further insult, she pushed the door open.

"Oh, Weasley..." His voice taunted behind her. "It must have slipped my mind..."

Rose closed her eyes; the threat of full mental collapse becoming imminent.

"I was sent up here…" He had made his way to the door as well. She could -once again- smell the onslaught of his artificial expense. "...to request your presence at dinner."

Rose wished for nothing more than the sweet release of death. Vivienne often requested Rose be present when they had guests over. Her role of 'prized accessory' was as much part of her employment than anything else.

Not only would she have to continue to endure the company of Scorpius Malfoy; she would have to maintain increasingly difficult composure, while Vivienne looked on.

"Well then-" She replied, weakly. "Would you be so kind as to deny that request on my behalf? As I said before, I am tired."

He gave another vengeful smirk.

"You and I both know that won't be happening."

He moved past her, meeting the hallway with pomp. He took a few steps forward, then turned back.

"Until we meet again…" He sighed, nodding to her. " _Bête_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Second chapter!
> 
> I'm literally obsessed with this dynamic. I could write pages and pages of their back and forth.
> 
> I sometimes find it hard to read ScorRose stories where they're aggressively nasty to one another. It can make the transition to affection feel unearned or unhealthy? I tried to give their malice enough motivation and give little clues in the chapter to why they may gravitate towards one another in the future….
> 
> Truly adore reviews, so any comments or questions you have are so appreciated! I ended up being motivated to finish this chapter after reading a particularly thoughtful review, so they really do mean a lot!
> 
> Thank-you for reading!
> 
> Xoxo turnaroundeverynowandthen


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